Around noon today, I slumped at my keyboard with that feeling of absolute
finishedness with
The Bodyjacker: I've completed all the plot realignments, clarifications and pontifications. I've eradicated repetitive words (my favorite was apparently "panic," which appeared 26 times). I've added the homicide investigation details. I hit "Save" for the last time on this manuscript. (Well, the last time until
someone else tells me to change it.) But I will now, as Clive Barker taught me to say, send it off to school.
It's done.
I then updated the
Nonfiction Bibliography on my website. It's got a nice list of links now to podcasts, MP3s, and online interviews, as well as what feels like a semi-complete list of nonfiction articles. I could have sworn I'd published more than that in recent years, but it's possible I've been too preoccupied with fiction and transcontinental shifts.
For the next couple of hours, I'm going to indulge in writing something that is so off the radar and so mysterious that even I lose track of it. Then I'm off to town to eat crepes and see
Notes on a Scandal with my love. I've earned it.
